


You Shook Me All Night Long

by scarletjedi



Series: Kurt is a Winchester [3]
Category: Glee, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Dubious Consent, First Time, M/M, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-07 01:36:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletjedi/pseuds/scarletjedi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Senior Year is Over. Puck, Kurt, and Finn are spending the summer saving people, hunting things before they start college in New York in the fall. The night starts like any other, at a crappy motel where, due to some sort of convention, all that’s left is the honeymoon suite, and Finn’s pretty sure he’s watched this porn before…</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Shook Me All Night Long

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to roserosa for the beta! Last minute and saved my bacon!
> 
> This is the third and last installment in my superglee series, which is, apparently, a trilogy. 
> 
>  
> 
> **  
> [CHECK OUT THIS AWESOME ART by totoropirate](http://i.imgur.com/plm35pA.jpg)  
> **

  
[](http://imgur.com/plm35pA)   


Finn was exhausted, bone tired and achy with dull spots of pain that he knew were bruises, and still he drifted as Kurt drove the three of them, Finn, Kurt, and Puck, to the next motel on the highway. With the swiftness that comes from missing time, Kurt parked the car and Finn woke as Kurt offered to get the keys while Puck and Finn grabbed their bags. Puck agreed and Finn groaned as he levered himself out of the backseat of Kurt’s Nav, and felt a new hurt with every movement. 

Well, fighting polters would do that to you, especially when they were strong enough to toss around someone of Finn’s size. 

Kurt and Puck had fared better; he guessed it was because they had more practice watching each other’s backs, or maybe because Finn had so much back to watch. They were faster, with better reflexes and mega awesome Hunter skills and Finn was just…Finn. 

He closed the door and leaned back against it, looking up at the sky and stretching his neck, hoping to crack it. No such luck. 

Finn looked over to the Motel office. He could see Kurt talking to the motel manager with a pinched look on his face; he was probably trying to convince the man that yes, two beds were fine for three grown men. Finn felt irritation grow in the murky soup of his exhaustion. He hated when people gave Kurt a hard time, and though he knew Kurt could take care of himself, he still felt the urge to step in, to protect him. 

Hey, it had taken him a while to get to that point, but now that he was there he wanted to be useful, damnit. 

The trunk closed and Puck walked around to Finn’s side of the SUV, dropping Finn’s bag at his feet. Then, he leaned against the Nav himself, and dropped his bag down, then Kurt’s on top of it. “Ya okay?” Puck asked. 

“Yeah,” Finn said, drawing the word out. “Tired.” 

“Truth,” Puck said, and together, they leaned their heads back against the car. It felt good to have Puck by his side again. Ever since sophomore year, between Quinn and the Baby and everything, Finn wasn’t sure if he was ever going to get his best friend back again. Sure, they had made up, but it wasn’t until this summer that Finn really felt like they were back in step. 

Kurt had been right; Hunting strips you down, makes you more yourself than you’ve ever been. The first time Finn tackled a monster to save Puck’s life, the first time Puck had shot the monster just seconds away from taking Finn out—yeah, it stripped all the bullshit from them, too. Standing there, sharing faint warmth between them in the faint chill of the night, Finn felt a wave of affection so strong it made it hard to breathe. He had Puck back. 

He heard faint footsteps and the deliberate crunch of gravel, and he opened his eyes to see Kurt walking back to them. It had been a long time since Finn had heard Kurt coming, not since he stopped wearing shoes that clacked when he walked. They'd had had a ceremony when Kurt had gotten rid of his one pair by that designer Finn could never remember. They had been so loud, with hard leather souls and heels that had made Kurt sound like a teacher when he walked. “Fashion should appeal to all your senses,” Kurt had said after. “And God knows I’ve sacrificed some serious comfort for fashion, but I refuse to sacrifice safety for a pair of boots, no matter how perfect they are.” 

Currently, Kurt had two keys in his hand and a truly impressive scowl on his face. 

“Uh oh,” Puck said, quietly. Louder, to Kurt, he said, “What’s wrong?” 

“Apparently, there’s _something_ happening, I don’t know what, he wouldn’t say, but there’s only one room left.” Kurt paused, his cheeks flushing pink. “It’s a King.” 

Finn was so tired, it took a moment to process. “What, you mean, like, one bed?” 

Kurt nodded once, jaw tight. 

Whatever. Finn was too tired to argue. “Just don’t kick me, alright?” 

Puck snorted. “Good luck with that,” he said, and picked up the bags. Finn grabbed his own. 

“He kicks?” 

“Like a mule.” 

“I’m _right here!_ ” Kurt protested over his shoulder as he led them to their room, but there was relief in his voice. Finn frowned at Kurt’ s back. Did he think Finn was going to freak out? That he hadn’t been sincere in his coming ‘round? 

*** 

Puck was already in bed, arms folded up behind his head when Finn went to join him. He had the TV turned on low to old reruns of _The Golden Girls_ , and the light flickered blue-white over his form in the dark of the room, casting relief shadows that made Finn blink his eyes. Finn climbed into bed on Puck’s left, the way he had when they were still young enough to share a bed during sleepovers as Blanche said something that made Bea Arthur roll her eyes and cue the laugh track. Finn knew that was, like, every episode, and took comfort in the familiarity. 

“Bit different than last time,” Puck said as Finn punched his pillow into submission. Finn flopped back and it didn’t matter that they were three-to-a-bed; it felt so good to lie down. 

“At least it’s a king,” Finn said. He could just picture the three of them trying to fit on a queen—or a double. They would be comically close, pressed together in a tangle of limbs and breath and— 

Finn shook his head, trying to make the image, and his visceral, physical response to it, flee. It had been a long time since he’d hooked up with anybody, longer since he’d had any privacy. He needed to get some soon, if thinking of his brother and his best friend _sharing a bed_ got that reaction. 

The bathroom door opened, and for a moment, the whole room was illuminated. Kurt paused in the doorway when he saw Finn and Puck in the bed, but he only blinked blearily at them and turned off the bathroom light. Finn blinked into the darkness, and when his eyes adjusted enough to see more than the square of television, Kurt was climbing into bed on Puck's other side. 

"The glamorous life of a Hunter," Kurt said dryly. 

"We'll be at The Batcave by tomorrow night," Puck said. "Dean promised us his 'famous beer burgers.'" 

"Sounds glamorous to me," Finn muttered. Sleep was creeping in fast, and he drifted off to the soft exchange between Puck and Kurt and Bea Arthur. 

***

_The rustle of sheets. Breathless gasping. Heavy breaths. Skin sliding against skin. Soft, wet, heavy..._

Finn floated to wakefulness, awareness coming in gradual shades: first his self, his body no longer weighed down with exhaustion; then, his senses as he heard the quiet moans and felt the bed shifting; finally the pieces were put together, he knew what he was hearing, and he was suddenly, achingly hard. 

He opened his eyes with a gasp that was lost behind Puck's groan; Kurt had rolled on top of him, and while Finn couldn't see exactly what he was doing through the sheet, the steady undulations of his hips were clear enough. 

They shouldn't be-- 

But they were, obviously they were, and not stopping (Finn didn't want them to stop, but he did, but he really, really didn't). 

Finn shouldn't be-- 

“Fuck, Puck,” Kurt gasped, jerking his hips sharply. Puck reared up, sitting up and letting the sheet fall away, pressing biting kisses to the long expanse of Kurt's neck. 

Finn still couldn't see everything, but he could see the long, tanned planes of Puck's back, the flaring swell of his ass. Kurt looked ethereal in the dim light, showing moon pale against Puck, the lithe muscles of his chest clearly defined as he moved, back arched against Puck's mouth. 

Finn pressed a hand to his cock, biting back a groan of his own at the pressure, and finding himself fully hard and leaking. 

Kurt raised his head and looked at him. He heard him; of course he heard him, and Finn met his gaze before he could think better of it. Kurt’s eyes were wide, his pupils blown and he never stopped moving. Finn’s fingers curled around his cock, his hand moving in time with Kurt. 

“Finn,” Kurt moaned when he noticed, and Puck turned to look as well. 

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Puck muttered. “You like that? You like watching.” Finn nodded, because how could he not? When Kurt looked like that, and Puck sounded like--God. 

“You want to watch me fuck him?” Puck asked, lips curling into a smirk. “Want to watch him fuck me?” 

Finn came hard, curling into himself as he spilled over his fingers, the sudden slick slide electric on his skin. 

“Oh yeah,” Puck said, gripping Kurt’s hips and moving faster. Kurt reached a hand between them and in a few strokes it was all over, Kurt flushing down his chest and Puck slack jawed and rapturous. 

"Yes," Finn said, heavy in the panting quiet. His hand was still moving, he was still hard, and he wanted, he _wanted..._

"Well, alright," Kurt said, quietly, and climbed over Puck to kiss Finn. Finn pressed back, his unoccupied hand coming up to curl over Kurt's jaw, to press his thumb behind Kurt's ear and tangle his fingers in Kurt's hair. Kurt tasted warm, like Kurt and like Puck and like everything Finn never knew he could want. Kurt kissed like he moved, with devastating grace. 

"Damn, you two are hot," Puck said, and like it was some cue in a dance Finn didn't quite know, Kurt pulled away and Puck was there, familiar, steady Puck, in Finn's space like he always had been, kissing like they had been doing this forever, like they _should_ have been doing this forever. 

"Wanna fuck you, too," Puck said, breathing the words into Finn's mouth. "Want you to fuck me, fuck us. Want you in this bed, against the wall, in the shower, _fuck,_ in the _parking lot._

"Yeah," Finn said, to any of it, all of it. 

Kurt knelt tall in the center of the bed and smiled, the edges of his mouth curling and filthy. "Puck," he said, "Come over here and fuck me." 

Puck and Finn both groaned at that, Finn's hand squeezing the base of his cock to slow himself down, and Puck practically flinging himself over to Kurt. Kurt ran a hand down his own chest, and Finn's eyes followed over the stained flush, watched as Kurt ran his thumb over his nipple, scratching and pressing with the nail. His head fell back, resting on Puck's shoulder as Puck came up behind to mouth at Kurt's neck. 

Already, the pale skin was mottled with red suck marks, this one with the hint of teeth still in the skin, that one a darker purple. Puck brought his hands up to hold Kurt's waist, fingers digging into the slow curve of muscle and bone. Kurt ran his hand over Puck's curling their fingers together for a brief moment, and some part of Finn's brain noticed the intimacy of that moment and wondered, but it was soon swept away as Kurt's hand ran lower, through the trail of hair, past his cock (and Finn got caught up for a moment at the sight of it, fully hard and thick and Finn found himself wanting to chase a falling drop of precome with his tongue, to chase the taste of Kurt down, to cup his balls, heavy and low, and squeeze gently. 

Puck's hands disappeared, but Finn didn't care, couldn't care, as Kurt rolled his balls in his hand, wrapped his other hand around his cock and stroked. Kurt's breath hitched suddenly, and the hand around his balls went even further back to where Finn couldn't see. 

He _could_ see Kurt licking his lip, biting with white teeth. Kurt's brow furrowed tightly for a moment, then relaxed more than Finn had ever seen. The hand he couldn't see pumped slowly, steadily, and Puck started to talk. 

"Yeah, baby, like that. Fuck yourself, open up for me. Yeah, come on. That's it. Oh, Finn, you should see this." 

Finn didn't think anything could tear him away from the looks on Kurt's face, the sight of his pleasure, but in what seemed like a blink, Finn was leaning up, shifting around to the other side so he could see Kurt's hand as he fingered himself open. 

As he watched, Kurt added another finger; now there were two, and two was better than one because Kurt started to make noises, little breathy gasps and hitches as he stretched. 

"Yeah," Puck said, then he was pushing Kurt forward until Kurt had to brace himself, and he whined as his hand left his cock. It bounced with the motion, and Finn reached out, rubbed a single finger around the head. 

"Ah!" Kurt cried out. "Finn!" 

"Heh," Puck licked his lips and grinned, tonguing his teeth. "Yeah, you like to be teased, don't you." 

"Fuck," Kurt spat, and pumped his fingers again. Finn went to pull his hand away, but Puck shook his head. 

"No, keep doing that," he said. "Little touches. Almost nothing touches." Puck spread one hand on Kurt's ass, spreading the cheeks and Finn's mouth went dry. Puck took Kurt's wrist and slowly pulled his fingers free. 

"Fuck you," Kurt grit out, fingers struggling to touch himself. 

"Next," Puck said. "You'll get yours." He looked at Finn. "Do it." 

Finn touched Kurt's cock again, running his finger down the underside, and Kurt whimpered. 

“Yeah,” Finn said. “Yeah, I want…” He trailed off as Kurt shifted, displaying the long line of his back, and Finn trailed his hand down pale shoulders firm with wiry muscles, hard, smooth planes dotted with color. His hand traced over the gentle dip at his hip, the swell of his ass, and Kurt moaned, arching into the touch. 

Kurt pressed his ass further into Finn’s hand, and Finn squeezed, kneading the flesh, and dropped a short smack. 

“Oh,” Kurt’s head popped up, then dropped, shoulders rolling as Finn rubbed away the sting. 

“Yeah, he’s got a great ass, doesn’t he?” Puck said in Finn’s ear. He pressed against Finn, chest to knee, and Finn felt Puck hard against his thigh; he swallowed with a cottony-dry mouth. Puck rolled his hips. “Doesn’t he?” 

“Yeah,” Finn said.” 

“It’s all that dancing. Those high kicks.” Puck leaned in close to whisper. “I knew, the minute we saw him kick, do you remember? All that power had to come from somewhere. He was tiny, then, hid his ass under large sweaters and overskirts, but I knew. He had to have an ass that doesn’t quit. I jerked off in the showers that day, thinking about that ass, and you know what?” Puck grinned. “Heh, it’s even better in person.” 

Finn groaned, and squeezed with both hands. 

“Finn,” Kurt moaned. “Puck. _Finn!_ ” 

“You better get in there,” Puck said. “Before he takes that option from you.” 

As if granted permission, Finn moved with the sudden quickness of a restraint dropped and nearly staggered forward; it felt like the most natural thing, to kiss his way down Kurt’s spine, to suck a mark over the dimple at the top of Kurt’s ass, to use his palms to spread Kurt wide (his hands nearly covered Kurt’s ass completely, and how could he nave not known that?) To rub his thumb over Kurt’s hole, already red and shiny with lube, and listen to Kurt’s breath stutter. Finn sunk the tip of his thumb in, fascinated by the way Kurt’s body let him in, muscles fluttering as he pushed his thumb in deeper. Kurt was hot inside, wet and tight, and Finn wanted desperately to sink himself—lose himself—in— 

“Go on,” Puck’s voice seemed to come from everywhere at one. “Taste him.” 

It made perfect sense—and Finn leaned in without another thought, licking a broad stripe with a flat tongue, pulling his thumb to the side, still hooked, and Kurt shouted, a sharp bark of pleasure that fell to whimpers as Finn continued to lave with his tongue, and fuck him slowly with his thumb. 

“Fuck, yeah,” Puck said, and Finn felt hands on his hips, strong fingers that smoothed over his skin, spread him wide, and pressed in gently, slick with lube. Finn clamped down and pressed back at the same time—nobody had ever touched him there, not like that, and he didn’t know how to feel. 

Puck draped himself over Finn’s back. “Come on, sweetness, let me in. I’ll make you feel so good, like you’re making Kurt feel good. You want that?” 

Groaning against Kurt’s skin, Finn nodded and Puck pressed in with another finger. 

“Yeah, that’s good,” Puck said. “Hey, why don’t you let Kurt flip over? Suck his cock while I fuck you open.” 

Finn felt no reason to object, so he sat up, pulling back. Kurt nearly collapsed to the bed and Finn realized just how much he had been shaking. 

Kurt’s dick arched up, hard and twitching, dripping with precome, and Finn wrapped a hand around the base, stroking the way he liked it, loose and slow and teasing. 

“Please!” Kurt panted, writhing on the bed, and Finn leaned down to draw the head of Kurt’s dick into him mouth. It was strangely familiar and yet utterly foreign, and before Finn could think, Kurt thrust up as Puck thrust _in_ and—oh, yeah. That was it, the rhythm that had been swirling around his mind; the taste in his mouth; the fullness in his ass, dragging sparking pleasure from him. His own dick twitched, untouched and aching, and he moaned low in his throat. Kurt swore and thrust faster. Puck met his pace, and Finn couldn’t do anything but try to keep up. Then, Puck reached down with his hand, wrapped it around Finn’s dick and in two strokes, Finn was coming—full on, Vegas-jackpot, _tilt, tilt, tilt,_ and the world was electric sparks and white and he vaguely registered Kurt coming in his hands, Puck grinding to completion behind him. 

The next that Finn was aware, he was flat on his back, Puck on his left, Kurt on his right, and they were kissing over his chest, hands linked together and gently stroking Finn’s half-hard dick. Finn shifted as his arousal built. 

Kurt pulled back to grin at him. “Welcome back.” 

“Hey,” Finn said. 

“You okay?” Puck asked. 

“Yeah,” Finn said. He felt warm, pleasantly fuzzy, and increasingly horny. 

“I was thinking that I really wanted you to fuck me,” Kurt said, nearly purring into Finn’s ear. “Then, maybe, you can fuck Puck? Or I can fuck you?” 

“Or both,” Puck said. “Both works.” 

“Yeah,” Finn said after a long moment. “I can do that.” 

*** 

“Oh, fuck! Finn!” 

“Shitshitshitshit--oooh!” 

“Fuck, you two are hot...” 

*** 

“You know.” Puck panted into Finn’s ear as he rolled his hips. Finn grunted as Puck’s dick hit that spot that make him spark and fuck deeper into Kurt’s mouth. “He’s wanted to do that since Freshman year.” Finn forced his eyes open and looked down into Kurt’s. Kurt winked at him and Finn came with a groan. 

*** 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah--Yes! Puck!” 

“Finn!” 

“Oh, Kurt, Kurt _Kurt_ ” 

*** 

"I feel like I could do this forever," Finn muttered, face pressed to Puck's chest. Puck braced his hands on Finn's as he arched back. Finn bit his lip as he sunk deeper into Puck's ass. Puck had wanted to know if he could ride Finn's lap while sucking Kurt's dick, and, well, far be it for Finn to say no to that. 

"I feel like we have been," Puck said, letting go with one hand to grab Kurt's hip and pull him closer, but Kurt resisted. Finn looked up to see why, and didn't like the look on Kurt's face; there was confusion, and vague horror, and something else that Finn was pretty sure ended their sex fest. 

"We _have_ been," Kurt said, and sat back out of Puck's reach. Puck sighed and pulled himself back up, and that was distracting enough that Finn lost the thread for a few long moments. 

"We've been fucking for almost eight hours." 

_That_ broke through. 

"What? Finn said. Even Puck stopped moving to look at him. 

"No way," Puck said. "It's still dark out." 

Finn looked; it was true. He could see the hazy glow of the fluorescent sign where the curtains gapped, but beyond that was midnight darkness. 

But... 

A thread of reason was struggling to make it's way through his brain. He knew from experience, bored summer days and snow days with nothing to do and excited energy under his skin, that it takes _time_ to get it up again, even when he could come if the breeze shifted the right way, and that the time got _longer_ with each consecutive time. Even that one day when he faked a stomach bug and spent the day jerking off in bed--so much so that he actually needed the Gatorade his mother brought home--that his personal best was four before he was too tired or raw to make touching himself anything but a chore. 

He'd come at least seven times tonight. Puck was working up to number eight, and Kurt had declared his intent to watch for a while after his ninth. Finn's dick didn't hurt; in fact, it felt more like he hadn't gotten off all night, and from the way Puck was squeezing his cock, he felt much the same. Even Kurt, who was wearing what Finn (in his head) called Kurt's "Hunter Face," was as hard as he'd been when Finn first woke up. 

The television moaned, loudly and free of static, and Finn jumped--which was apparently all Puck needed because he came with a shout, clenching and twitching around Finn's cock and it was enough to set Finn off, and when Finn finally blinked away the hazy spots from his vision, Puck had pulled off and away, and Kurt was flushed and panting, hand covered with his own jizz, and they were _all still hard._

Finn threw an arm over his eyes. "How did we not notice this?" 

"Succubus," Kurt said. "Or, maybe an Incubus? Sex-feeder, either way. They mess with your head. Your perception of reality." 

"Can they mess with time?" Finn asked, raising his arm just enough to see Kurt's face. Kurt's bent leg hid Finn's view of anything below his waist, and Finn was _not_ disappointed. He had just _gorged_ himself on that cock, he didn't _miss_ it already, he didn't-- 

"No," Kurt said. "But who knows how much of the past few hours were real?" 

"My ass says they were very real," Puck said, face-down in the comforter. 

Kurt winced. "Mine, too." 

Now that he was starting to think again, Finn could just feel a sense of throbbing heat and pressure from his ass, hovering just this side of pain. It felt like a fresh bruise, after the trauma but before the swelling pain. He pressed a hand to his dick and sure enough, under the initial relief of contact, was the anticipation of pain. He cleared his throat. "And me." 

Puck sighed. "We have to go kill it, don't we?" 

"It feeds off people," Kurt said. "To death." 

"We're not dead," Finn said. 

"It's not done with us," Kurt said, gesturing towards his lap. He winched, "And there are three of us, which, well--" 

"All you can eat buffet," Puck said, and then finally lifted his head to look at them. "We're a China Palace." 

"Well," Kurt said, standing with determination. "We're going to give him some serious indigestion." 

Finn's mouth went dry. Bossy Kurt usually made him shift in his seat, but Naked Bossy Kurt, complete with magical hard-on? Yeah, it was doing _things_ to Finn's brain. 

"Yeah," Puck said, rolling off the bed and grabbing Kurt around the waist. "Just...one more time. To take the edge off." 

"There is no edge," Kurt protested, but he still reached for Puck. "This wont stop until the thing is dead." 

“How do we break this thing’s hold?” Finn asked, hand snaking down to cup his balls, to ease some of the pressure, and winced, gentling his touch. They felt raw, chafed, like Finn had been fondling them for hours. Finn looked down; his dick was limp and his thighs were red like rug burn, and sex was the _farthest thing from his mind._ Kurt was moaning like porn, and Finn knew he’d get hard from that with or without crazy sex-whammy, and nothing. Not even a twitch. 

“I think I broke it,” Finn said. 

“Broke what?” Kurt asked, breathless. 

“My dick,” Finn said. “I touched it and it just--” He grimaced as he shifted. His ass was really sore, and he was pretty sure there were going to be a few hand-shaped bruises on it for the next couple of days. 

Finn looked over at Puck and Kurt. Puck was still kneeling at Kurt’s feet, but his hand was cupped over his junk and he had the same look on his face as when they had thought supergluing their asses to their bike seats would keep them from crashing. Kurt was still panting, red flushed and hard, dick shiny with spit, and as Finn watched, Kurt touched himself and deflated, falling to his knees next to Puck. 

“Really?” Kurt muttered, pained. “That’s what ends this?” 

“Maybe the mojo can’t compete with the reality,” Puck said. 

“It makes no sense!” Kurt insisted. “My cock was getting touched either way, why would my hand be different?” 

“I don’t know,” Finn said. “I don’t really care. Can we please just go kill it now?” he stood, and contemplated his boxers. “And maybe get some lotion or something?” 

*** 

The Motel sign flickered when Finn opened the door. The parking lot was full of cars, more than had been there when they’d checked in—more than there could possibly be for the amount of rooms. As Finn looked, he realized the cars were filled with people, drivers who had pulled over under some supernatural urge. He looked closer at the mini-van, and reared back as he saw a dad going down on his wife while his children, all under seven, slept an unnatural sleep in the back seat. 

“Gross,” he said. 

Kurt wrinkled his nose as he stepped outside. “It sounds like a bad porn.” 

It really did. Moans and squeaking shocks and flesh slapping against flesh. 

“Or really good porn,” Puck said, bringing up the rear. Kurt shot him a look over his shoulder. 

“There is nothing good about this.” 

Turning, Kurt took point, and Finn closed the door behind. Kurt and Puck flashed their lights into wind shields as they passed, pointing their guns, but all they ever saw was writing naked skin and fogged glass. Finn walked behind them, mostly backwards, covering their backs. 

“Shit,” Kurt swore softly. Finn turned and saw Kurt shining his light into an old Toyota. The two occupants were still wrapped tightly around each other—though they looked more like extras from _The Mummy_ than from porn. 

“It’s killed once and it’s still going on?” Puck said. “That’s not good.” 

“No,” Kurt agreed. “It isn’t.” He started to jog to the main lobby and Puck and Finn hurried to keep up. 

The night desk clerk was bent over the continental breakfast table, moaning steadily as the head janitor ate him out. Finn stumbled when he saw, the noises putting _ideas_ in his head, and he couldn’t afford to get hard again, not here, not now. He bit his lip, thought of the mail man, and powered after the others. 

Kurt stopped outside of the security office, flanking left as Puck went right. Finn braced himself, and with one solid slam, burst through the door, dropping to the ground, while Puck and Kurt covered the air where he had been. 

…Nothing happened: no jump, no attack, no sudden pain and too much blood. 

Finn uncovered his head and looked up. Dust swirled thick in the light from the hallway, and through it, Finn could see the light of several small black and white monitors. 

As the dust (literally) settled, and the echoes of the falling door faded, Finn heard the unmistakable wet skin on skin slap of a man masturbating. Regretting it even as he did it, Finn looked. The manager sat in front of the security monitors, jackin’ in like it was his job, with a desperate lack of awareness. He was just as enthralled as the rest of motel. 

“Shit,” Kurt said, and rested the barrel of his shotgun on his shoulder. 

“Pathetic, isn’t it?” A new voice said, and Finn flipped over onto his back, scuttling back and reaching for his machete. His back hit the wall, and Finn realized the voice was familiar. He looked up. 

Quinn. 

“What?” He said, stumped. Not-Quinn smiled at him, face warm behind the long sweep of her blonde hair (her hair hadn’t been that short in years), and she smoothed a wrinkle from her baby-doll dress (she wore edgier clothing, now, a legacy of her friendship with Mercedes). There was no way Quinn was—Quinn wouldn’t, not after Beth, and—Kurt and Puck looked just as stunned as Finn felt, frozen in place, though there was anger behind Kurt’s eyes and Puck looked _old_. 

Finn blinked, shaking his head as if that would help him, and Quinn flickered. Her smile wavered first, twisting up into a smirk on darker lips, and it spread as she shifted to stand, hip cocked, and in the span of one breath to the next, Quinn was Santana, done up to the nines in a barely-there red dress and black heels that Finn had only ever seen in porn. 

_That_ made a _little_ more sense, except for how it totally didn’t. 

“An entire motel of people, and it’s _this_ that turns his freak-crank,” not-Santana said, stepping forward on one graceful heel. “Still,” She touched the back of the manager’s head with her red nail and spun, gathering a silvery mist around her finger like cotton candy. 

Not-Santana raised her finger to her mouth and placed it between her blood-red lips, sucking it clean and moaning with pleasure. Finn felt his orgasm like punch to the dick and he moaned with her, twitching uselessly. He couldn’t make a fist, couldn’t hold onto his machete, and he was going to die like this, coming dry at the mercy of this bitch. 

The manager had aged ten years, and when Finn looked back, Santana had become Rachel. 

No—No. Just…just no. It was too soon. Finn closed his eyes. 

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Not-Rachel cooed. “You’re going to want to see this.” 

A shotgun fired and Finn jumped, opening his eyes. Kurt had his piece levelled at the thing’s head. Well, what was left of it. 

It didn’t look like Rachel any more. It looked like some twisted love-child of the Cryptkeeper and that salt-sucking monster from the old Star Trek series: gray wrinkled skin with patches of limp hair, body shriveled but belly full to near bursting, and a round mouth filled with rows of tiny needle-teeth. And, of course, nearly a third of it’s head was now missing, blown to bits by the shotgun cocktail of cold iron bullets, rock salt, and blessed wafer. 

Finn gagged, and scrambled to his feet. 

Kurt was staring down at the thing with a blank expression, and without warning, shot it again though the chest. 

Puck was pale, bent at the waist with his hands on his knees, and Finn realized with sudden clarity that he had no idea what Puck or Kurt had seen. He doubted Kurt had seen Quinn, or Santana. 

“The fuck…? _Fuck!_ ” The guard was awake, and tried to spring to his feet and pull his pants up at the same time. He staggered, fell into the console and Finn wanted to tell him to not bother. They’d already seen everything, there was no point. “You shouldn’t be— _THE FUCK IS THAT THING? ___”

“Nothing you have to worry about,” Puck said. He was still pale, but he was standing straight. If you didn’t know him, you wouldn’t be able to tell anything was wrong. Kurt had ducked behind Puck, using the bulk of Puck’s body to hide his shotgun. 

The man looked at Puck like he was crazy. “Not worry…it’s on my floor!” 

But even as the man spoke, the body on the floor started to shrivel, curling up on itself like those vacuum sealers from the commercials. As they watched, it curled into dust and disappeared. 

Kurt blinked down at it from over Puck’s shoulder. “Well that’s convenient,” he said. “They’re never self-cleaning.” 

Finn snorted, and started to chuckle. It wasn’t funny. It really wasn’t, but Finn was pretty sure he wasn’t processing correctly any more. It was hard, but Finn swallowed down his laughter, and tipped an imaginary hat at the security guard. “G’night,” he said. Kurt and Puck took the hint, and the three of them nearly flew from the room. 

In the lobby, the janitor was nowhere to be found, but the night desk clerk was standing behind the counter, red-faced and shocked. Puck swung by the desk to say, “Drink some chocolate. Tomorrow, this will be a dream.” 

By the time they got outside, most of the cars had left the parking lot. The entire motel felt like an awkward morning after, and Finn really didn’t want to face that room right now. 

“All those in favor of heading on to the bunker tonight?” Finn asked. 

“I’ll get our bags,” Puck said, veering left. “I’ll start the car,” Kurt said and veered right. 

“I’ll…” Finn almost said he’d square the bill, but they’d reserved a room on a nearly maxed fake account, and he _really_ didn’t want to go back there. In the end, he followed Kurt to the car, climbed into the back seat, deliberately ignoring the way he winced when his ass twinged after he dropped down too heavily on the seat, lay down as best he could, and passed out. 

*** 

Finn woke briefly a few hours later to the low murmur of voices. He was aware just long enough to hear Puck say his name, and Kurt respond with, “I don’t know. We’ll have to talk about this,” and he was back under, lulled by the rhythm of the road. 

 

*** 

The next time Finn awoke, they were only a few minutes away from the bunker, driving down the nearly-forgotten road that lead to the front door. He felt mostly normal; his muscles were stiff and his back ached, but he no longer felt like an extra from a weird seventies-Golden Girl inspired porno. (He would never get the sound of Rose moaning out of his head). More importantly, he felt normal enough to sit up, and look around. 

“Almost here,” Kurt said, seeing him in the back seat. Finn looked away to miss eye contact. That would be too much. 

“Good,” Finn said. Puck didn’t say anything, just continued to stare out of the window. 

Castiel was waiting for them, standing in the middle of the road before the front door. Kurt slowed, and was almost stopped when Cas pointed to the right of the entrance. There, just visible if you knew where to look, was a second path up the hill. It was just wide enough for the car, and when Kurt looked back at Cas, he just pointed again. 

Kurt turned the car, and slowly drove onto the path. It wound up the hill, through the trees, and then suddenly widened. “Dean built a fucking driveway,” Kurt muttered. Sure enough, that’s what it was. Finn could see the Impala, the beaten up Volvo Sam insisted on having “just in case” and Bobby’s truck. Looks like they were last to the party. 

They didn’t speak as they gathered their things, too tired, too _awkward_ in the hard light of late morning, and they walked back down the path. Cas was still waiting at the bottom. “You’re early,” he said. He frowned. “Are you alright?” 

“We’re fine,” Kurt said, quickly. “Just tired.” 

“Tough hunt,” Puck said. His voice was rough, like he hadn’t spoken in hours. He must not have said anything since Finn heard him last. 

“Long trip,” Finn said. 

Cas nodded. “Yes,” he said. “And you’re not done yet.” Finn wasn’t sure what he meant by that—they were here, after all, but Kurt breathed in deeply, as if bracing himself, and Puck nodded. Finn frowned. He hated it when he was the last to figure these things out; it happened often enough, but he never _liked_ it. 

“Come on in,” Cas said. “Dean has been cooking.” 

Finn had never been to the bunker before, but Kurt and Puck had, and they walked through the metal door like they belonged there. _Maybe they did,_ a part of Finn whispered. They belonged a part of this world like, maybe, Finn never would. They certainly seemed less confused about the night before. Maybe the ability to brush off an succubus-induced-sex-marathon with your best friend/stepbrother was a part of being a Hunter that nobody had told him about. 

He wasn’t sure how most Hunters would go around finding that out, but _what if!_

Cas lay a hand on Finn’s am as he passed by, and Finn stopped. Finn knew, at some level, that Cas used to be an Angel, he still had the ability to know more than he should, but this was the first time he really believed it, because Cas had the same look on his face as Kurt when something stopped working unexpectedly, like he had been betrayed by his own expectations. Finn didn’t know if Cas was trying to read his mind, or lay his hands, or teleport them to Disney Land, but none of the three happened, so Finn guessed it really didn’t matter. 

“Finn, you coming?” Puck called back, and Finn glanced up at Puck and nodded, mind flashing back to the _last_ time Puck had said those words, remembering the Puck’s skin had been flushed and his eyes had glistened, the way his own breath had hitched his toes had started to curl, the way electric pleasure had sparked, focused on wherever Kurt pressed his fingers—and he heard Cas breathe in sharply though his nose. Finn whipped his head back around. 

Cas picked his hand off of Finn’s arm, holding it up to soothe. “I will not say a word,” Cas said, “But I feel you should talk with them. Doctor Oz says communication is key to any healthy relationship.” 

“Thanks, Cas,” Finn said, edging away slightly. The last thing Finn planned to do was _talk_ about this, and he was pretty sure Cas knew that, because he sighed. 

“There is no need to be so rigid,” Cas said. “You were already beginning to figure that out. Do not let this stop you.” 

Finn looked over his shoulder and stepped in close to Cas. He looked down at the former angel, but not so much as he expected. He always forgot how tall Cas really was. 

“I don’t know a damned thing,” Finn said. How could he, when he didn’t understand— 

He backed away from the sympathy, and followed Puck and Kurt into the bunker. 

*** 

Dean had indeed been cooking, and Finn fell to eating like he had been starved; even for him, the amount of food was staggering. Puck and Kurt weren’t far behind. Finn was just starting to feel less ravenous when he saw the way Sam and Dean were looking at them. 

“You pick up a tapeworm?” Dean asked, mouth half-full. Sam elbowed him, but Dean ignored it. 

“Ew,” Kurt said. Puck didn’t bother to answer, and Finn found it very hard to look up from his plate. 

“You boys ran into somethin’” Bobby said. “Somethin’ energy-sucking.” 

Puck paled, and Finn choked on his food. “Don’t say ‘sucking,’” Kurt said faintly. 

Sam and Dean raising their eyebrows. 

“It was a succubus,” Cas said, and Finn dropped his fork to the floor. He scooted his chair back and ducked under as Kurt explained. 

“We stumbled across its feeding grounds,” Kurt said. “We actually wanted to ask a few questions later. It was acting strange.” 

“Sure,” Dean said as Finn emerged from under the table. “We ganked one a few years back, ourselves. Plus, this place has records like you wouldn’t believe. They—“ 

Finn stood, stomach twisting. Everyone stared at him for a long moment. 

“I have to go,” he said, faintly, and ran for the rooms. He heard Puck and Kurt calling after him and he ducked into an empty bunk, trying to calm his breathing. 

Puck found him first. Puck always found him first. It used to be so frustrating when playing hide-and-go-seek or manhunt. Kurt was right on Puck’s heels, and sat next to Finn. Kurt always saw Finn, even when Finn didn’t especially want him to. 

“Finn,” Kurt began, haltingly. “I know this can be a bit confusing…” He trailed off. It helped, a bit, that Kurt seemed out of his element, too. It make what he said next a bit easier.” 

“I know how these things work, Kurt,” Finn said. “I’m not stupid.” 

“I know you’re not,” Kurt said, sounding hurt like Finn had just called _him_ stupid. 

“Do you?” Finn asked. “Because sometimes—” _you act like it_ , he didn’t say, because it wasn’t true. Not any more. Not for a long while. “Because sometimes I still feel that way,” he said, instead, and that was a lot closer to what he was thinking, and he felt a little bit of the weight that had been pressing down on him since the Motel lessen. 

“You’re not stupid,” Puck said, sitting down on Finn’s other side. “Even when you’re being a dumbass.” 

Kurt shot Puck a reproachful glare at that one, but Finn knew what Puck meant, and he smiled ruefully. “Thanks Puck,” he said. Puck just swayed over and knocked their shoulders together. 

“I did the reading, you know,” Finn continued. “I do when it’s important. There are no Pink Monkey notes for a Hunter’s Journal. I know—“ Finn cut himself off and bit his lip. He paused for a minute, then said, “I know those kind of sex eaters play off wants that you already have. They didn’t make me want you two, I already did.” 

Puck and Kurt exchanged a look, and Finn realized they must have been talking about in the car, and he felt something inside him shudder and pull away. This was it; they were going to tell him that it had all been him, that it was all _his_ fault-- 

“Finn, you know that goes for us, too, right?” Kurt said, “Though we didn’t expect you to admit it so easily.” He put his hand on Finn’s thigh, and Finn jumped up, walking the few steps to the far wall before he could stop himself and turn around. 

“Sorry,” Finn said. “Sorry, I…” Finn trailed off, swallowing. Slowly, Kurt put his hand back in his lap, covering his fist; his knuckles whitened as he squeezed. 

Puck put his hand on Kurt’s shoulder blade. “Finn—” 

“No!” Finn burst out. He slapped his hand over his mouth and stared at the bed, eyes wide. He saw Kurt pale, saw the oldness come back to Puck’s eyes. “Sorry, I don’t know why I...” he trailed off, and looked away. 

“Talk,” Puck said. He didn’t move, didn’t try to physically remove Finn’s hand like he would have in the past. “Don’t hold it in; you don’t want that festering in you.” Finn had been thirteen when he first started talking to Puck about sex and girls, and even then Puck had seemed so knowledgeable, been so experienced. It had been something to admire, to envy, back then. Now, it made Finn’s heart ache. 

Finn dropped his hand, and back pressed to the wall, slid down to sit on the floor. “I don’t know how,” he said, voice quiet. 

“You’ve been thinking about it,” Puck said. Finn looked up, met Puck's eyes. “It’s something you want, something that people don’t really talk about, not to you, 'you're too young for sex,' but you know enough to know it’s something that sounds real good." Finn swallowed; he wanted to stop him, but Puck needed to get this out. Finn needed to hear it. "And then you find yourself in a situation where you’re about to get _exactly what you’ve been thinking about_ but it turns out that it’s not like you thought at all because people were holding a lot more back than they told, or they weren’t telling you the truth, but now you’re stuck because, god help you, you do want it. You _want_ to want it like you wanted it before, but now that you’ve got it, you have no idea what to do with it, because nobody talks about that part." 

”Jesus, Puck, Kurt whispered, low and fervent, and Finn just nods his head, because that’s exactly it, and Puck has _been_ there before, and now Kurt gets it too. 

“How do you _fix_ it,” Finn asked, and his voice sounded raw, like he’d been the one spilling his guts. 

Puck shrugged. “There is no fix. It’s like a broken vase, not a broken car. There’s no redo. No replacement part. You just glue the pieces back together as best you can and, when it dries, hope the vase still holds water.” He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his Mohawk. “I do know that it’s no good to deny the vase is broken. Sweeping it under the couch just means there’s a broken vase under the couch.” 

"How do I glue it together?" Finn asked, and he hated how young he sounded. 

"You talk about it," Puck said. "You find someone who won't judge, and you spill your guts." He shrugged, and turned to Kurt. "Chat rooms can be a good thing." 

Kurt wrapped his arm around Puck's waist and squeezed. 

Finn nodded. His head was pounding and his throat felt dry and scratchy. “Do I have to do it now?” 

Puck shook his head, slowly. “No,” he said. “But it gets harder to do the longer you deny it’s there.” 

Finn nodded and stood. “I think I’m gonna go for a walk,” he said. 

“Take your phone,” Kurt said. “Just in case.” 

Finn nodded again and left the room. He closed the door behind him and hesitated just long enough to hear Kurt say, “Oh, Puck,” like he was going to cry, and he nearly ran for the door. 

*** 

He didn’t go far. He crossed the road and walked down the side of the ravine. A small creek ran along the bottom, and he found the trunk of a large tree that had fallen over like some kind of natural bridge. He climbed up the roots and walked out over the water. Carefully, he sat, dangling his legs and thinking. 

Puck and Kurt found him there a few hours later, as the sun was beginning to set and the shadows grew deeper around him. The woods were just starting to lose their color when Puck and Kurt sat down, flanking him. He thought he’d feel trapped, cornered. He didn’t. It was enough to let him open his mouth. 

“The first time I had sex was with Santana,” Finn said. He felt Kurt tense, but Puck seemed to relax even further. “Everybody knows that. I went from jizzing my pants if the wind blew too hard to getting pushed down and fucked.” Finn paused, and looked up at Puck. “You know what I mean.” 

“She’s got a way,” Puck agreed. “She’s on top, no matter what goes where.” He shrugged. “It’s fun, but she’s a bit detached.” 

“Exactly,” Finn said, relieved. “And that I could handle. I mean, it happened so fast that I can barely remember it anyway, and I had fun, so.” Finn frowned. “She didn’t need to be so bitchy about it.” 

“Santana has her own demons,” Kurt murmured. 

“Not literally,” Puck said. “I checked.” 

Finn snickered, but Kurt shook his head. “I saw her talking to Coach Sylvester right before graduation. She might be fighting our type of demon, soon.” 

“That’s terrifying,” Finn said. 

“That’s Santana,” Puck said. “She’d be good.” 

“We might run into her on a hunt one day,” Kurt said, and Finn hunched down because that brought it all home; would he be there when they did? He didn’t think so. 

Kurt placed a hand on Finn’s thigh. “Finn?” he prompted. Finn closed his eyes, and tried to focus his thoughts. He had a lot to say, and didn’t want to leave anything out. 

“Rachel and I never slept together,” Finn said. “But there was a connection with her--I wanted to, because I knew it would be different. That, maybe with Rachel, I would find what had been missing with Santana. It would _mean_ something, that it might be on _my_ terms, or at least ‘our’ terms, and not just ‘her’ terms. Then...” 

Finn paused. In the distance, a bird called and another returned. 

“Then, I woke from a dream to a fantasy come true, where I finally have what I want and I can feel that connection times ten and it was all because of a fucking sex demon and how the fuck and I supposed to cope with that?” Finn stopped short, breathing heavily. 

Kurt squeezed Finn’s thigh gently between his fingers. “With...wanting both of us?” There was an odd note in Kurt’s voice, one Finn couldn’t identify, but it reminded him of when Kurt knew when Burt had cheated on his diet and was trying to get him to confess. Finn couldn't figure out what that meant. 

Finn hung his head, and when he spoke, he could barely hear himself. “With losing both of you.” 

“You’re not losing us, Finn” Kurt said, and his hand moves to rest tentatively on Finn’s arm. 

Puck slung his arm around Finn’s shoulders. “Just try to get rid of us,” he said, grinning. 

“Guys...” Finn said, and sighed. They just weren’t getting it. He wanted _more_ than just sex. “That’s not what I mean.” He closed his eyes. Here it comes. _What do you mean, Finn?_ from Kurt, who would know and try to give him a way to deny it. _You want another three-way?_ from Puck, because Puck was open like that with his body with someone he trusted. And then Finn would have to tell them that he wanted to be _part_ of them, and they would turn him away and he’d have to leave, probably leave the country because when you Hunted, you had to go everywhere. He’d have to go overseas, to, like, Mallorca, to get far enough away to stop the ache. 

“We know, Finn,” Kurt said, quietly amused. 

That wasn’t part of the script. Finn opened an eye and peered at Kurt. “You know?” 

“We know,” Puck said. His fingers started to run up and down the side of Finn’s neck where they rested. Finn leaned into the touch, then narrowed his eyes. 

“What do you know?” Finn said, looking at Puck sidelong. 

“You weren’t the only one who felt that connection,” Kurt said. The hand on his arm squeezed, then slowly drifted lower until Kurt could wrap his hand around Finn’s arm. 

“We felt it too,” Puck agreed. “A rightness between the three of us that had nothing to do with the whammy.” 

“We talked to Bobby,” Kurt added. “Apparently, there are stories of people escaping the clutches of a succubus with honest emotion.” He smiled, wryly. “Twue Wuv,” he said. 

“Nah,” Puck said, snickering. “He clearly said ‘To blave,’ which means to bluff. He was probably cheating at cards--” 

“Liar!” Finn cried out. “Liiiar!” 

“Go away, witch!” Puck called back. Kurt was laughing into his hand, and Finn kept going to keep that joy on his face.” 

“I’m not a witch; I’m your wife! And after what I just heard, I’m not even sure I want to be that anymore!” 

“You never had it so good!” 

Kurt let out a peel of laugher and nearly overbalanced on the log. Finn caught him and pulled him in closer, holding him against his side as his grin settled into a fond smile. “So,” he said. “Love?” 

“Apparently,” Kurt said. He hesitated. “Are you...okay with that?” 

“I am as long as you guys are,” Finn said. He laughed once. “Are you kidding? I never thought you’d feel the same, and I’d have to move to Mallorca.” 

“Nah,” Puck said, as Kurt mouthed “Mallorca?” and then shook his head, dismissing the thought. “You can remain in the good ol’ US of A.” 

“Oh, good,” Finn said, sighing. They sat there for a moment, just enjoying the peace, and Finn frowned. “So that’s it, then? We’re just--an _us_ ” 

Puck shrugged. “Why not?” 

“I don’t know,” Finn said. “I thought there’d be, I dunno, another step or something.” 

Kurt smirked. “We can always consummate the new arrangement.” 

“I dunno,” Puck said, and licked his molar. “There was a lot of consummating the other night.” 

“Didn’t count” Finn said. “It happened before. I’m down for some consummating. Just nothing too rough.” He winced. “I’m still a little sore from the other night.” 

Kurt winced in sympathy, but Puck just laughed. “No worries. We’re all still a bit raw, right Kurt?” 

“Right,” Kurt said. “Sore, but in our right minds. No whammys now.” 

“Oh, I’ll whammy you,” Puck leered, leaning around Finn, and biting his lower lip in an exaggerated leer. He wiggled his eyebrows. Kurt snorted, and Finn pushed Puck until he stumbled from the log, laughing. 

“That was terrible,” Finn complained. 

“So am I,” Puck said, stepping up between Finn’s legs. He braced his hands on Finn’s thighs and leaned in close, stopping a hair’s breadth from Finn’s mouth. “Absolutely terrible,” he grinned, and his next breath was swallowed as Finn tugged him forwards into a greedy kiss. 

It was just like Finn remembered: hot, slick-sliding pressure, but better because it didn’t have the cottony edge of the succubus’s spell. Desire flared hot in Finn, and he wanted to do everything they had done over again, to replace the memories with fresh. Puck, it seemed, would be completely amenable. 

Thin, strong fingers ran through his hair, and Kurt leaned in close to press sucking kisses to Finn’s neck. Finn groaned into Puck’s mouth and tilted his head for Kurt, breaking the kiss. 

Kurt traced along Finn’s jaw with his tongue, whispering in Finn’s ear. “What do you want?” 

“Fuck,” Finn said, the word strangled as Puck ran his fingernails up the inside of Finn’s thighs. 

Kurt chuckled. “That can be arranged. Do you want to fuck? Or _get_ fucked?” 

Finn grunted, the words hitting him like a physical blow, and his cock twitched as if it remembered and expected pain, though none came. He shifted on the log, and his ass twinged; that would have to wait. “To,” he said. “Puck.” He opened his eyes, and Puck grinned. 

“Your wish is my command,” Puck said. “You want to get me ready, or you want to watch?” 

“Watch,” Finn said, a bit eagerly. “Watch Kurt fucking you open for me.” He could see it clearly: Kurt loosing his composure, fucking Puck and coming deep inside, pulling back so Finn could take his pleasure. Puck would be slick-sticky-wet and open, but still tight on Finn’s dick. “Want to see you wait to come until you’re bouncing on my dick.” 

Finn blinked, a bit surprised he had said that last part out loud, but it was all true, and Kurt was looking at him with pleasant surprise. Puck just looked pleased, and pulled a half-empty tube of lube from his pocket, dropping his jeans to the forest floor. 

“What?” He said to Kurt’s bemused expression. Finn started to laugh. “What?” Puck asked again. “I would have made a great Boy Scout.” 

“I’m pretty sure _that_ ” Kurt nodded to the lube, “is not the kind of preparedness the Boys Scouts would encourage.” 

Puck shrugged, completely unconcerned, but he was smiling when Kurt slid to his feel and kissed Puck, deep and familiar, before urging him forward with a gentle smack on his ass. 

Puck jumped and shimmied, smirk firmly in place, as he took the few steps forward, and braced his hands on the log, arching his back and displaying his ass. In place, he wiggled, and grinned over his shoulder. His dick was hard, curving up towards his belly, his sack swinging free; Finn found himself staring, waiting for a glimpse. 

Kurt’s pale hand crept into view, wrapping around Puck’s dick and pumping. Puck grunted as he fucked into Kurt’s fist, and Finn realized Kurt used the motion to breech Puck with two slick fingers. Finn reached down and unbuckled his pants. 

Puck opened quickly, and before long, Kurt was undoing his own pants one handed, his other three fingers deep in Puck’s ass. 

“You’re ready?” Kurt asked; his voice was deep, husky with lust. 

“Yeah,” Puck practically whined. “Please.” 

Kurt pulled his fingers free, and lined himself up, sinking home in one long, slow push that had Puck breathing out harshly and letting his head hang. 

Sweat glistened at Kurt’s temple, and he was close enough that Finn reached out and wiped the droplets away with his thumb. He trailed the digit down the side of Kurt’s face until Kurt turned his head and sucked Finn’s thumb into his mouth. Finn moaned as Kurt sucked, running his tongue along the pad, the callus, the knuckle. 

Puck whined and Kurt, without loosing a beat, snapped his hips forward. Puck cried out, and Kurt pulled back from Finn, hips rolling and snapping. Puck was flushed, sweating, and making high, breathless sounds. 

Finn ran his damp thumb down Kurt’s neck, over his shoulder and down, acting on hazy memory to Kurt’s nipple. 

“Oh, fuck—“ Kurt bit out, and he shuddered through his next few thrusts as he reached his completion. He paused, arched over Puck’s back, panting for a long beat. Then he pulled back, pinching his lips together between his teeth, even as Puck made a noise of needy loss. 

“Fuck, Finn, get in me,” Puck pleaded. “Please, fuck!” 

“Hold on,” Finn said. “And don’t come yet!” Puck grunted, and Finn pulled Kurt in for a deep kiss. Kurt was sluggish, worn, but passionate nonetheless. “You’re beautiful when you come,” Finn said against Kurt’s mouth, and Kurt bit him gently, tugging his bottom lip gently between his teeth before stepping back and leaning against the log on Finn’s other side. 

“Finn,” Puck moaned again, and Finn pulled his pants down and paused, thinking. He leaned back against the tree. The bark was scratchy against his ass, but if this worked, it would be so worth it. 

“Come here,” he said, tugging on Puck’s arm. Puck looked at him, pupil’s blown. “Come sit on my dick.” Puck stared at him for a moment longer, trying to process, and then his eyes fell to where Finn was holding his dick in one hand, and Puck pushed away from the log. 

He swung his leg over Finn’s, and Finn braced Puck with a hand on his hip, spreading him wide with his thumb to see the sloppy mess Kurt left behind, and guided himself in. Puck’s head fell back as he sunk down, and when he was fully seated, it fell forward against his chest. 

“Yes,” Finn hissed, and flexed his hands on Puck’s hips. “Now _move_!” 

“Fuck,” Puck breathed, and started to work himself on Finn’s dick. Finn shifted, braced his feet, and thrust up, meeting Puck on his way down with a loud slap of skin on skin. Puck cried out, shuddering, and fucked harder, faster. 

It didn’t take long after that. A few hard thrusts and Puck was coming, spilling over his fingers, grinding down until Finn joined him, gasping his release. 

Puck slid off with a grunt, and fell back against the tree, resting on his hip. “Goddamn,” he panted. 

“Indeed,” Kurt said. “I have high hopes for the future, if this is where we’re starting.” 

Finn pulled his pants up to hang loosely, and wrapped an arm around each of them. In his mind’s eye, he saw a picture of the three of them, clear for the first time—Saving people. Hunting things. Together.


End file.
